Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
Setback and Sacrifice
Avery
It’s barely past sunrise, but I’ve been awake for hours. I sit at the edge of the bed, my bare feet planted on the worn floorboards of my bedroom, fingers gripping the edge of the mattress like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
Outside the window, the sky glows with a watercolor wash of lavender and gold, the first signs of another perfect Painted Sky morning.
But everything inside me feels far from perfect. My chest is tight, breath shallow, like my ribs are trying to cage in the panic rising inside me. My stomach twists, heavy and unsettled, as if my body already knows what my heart’s still trying to deny.
Cash is still asleep behind me, his arm draped across the empty space I just left. He looks peaceful, unaware of the storm still churning inside me.
I have to tell him.
I slip out of the room and head downstairs, where the scent of strong coffee already hangs in the air.
Harper’s typing away on her computer in her robe, sipping from a mug that says Cowgirl Fuel and flipping through her phone.
Her gaze lifts just slightly when I walk in, and she sets the mug down more carefully than usual, like she’s already picked up on the storm brewing under my skin but isn’t ready to ask about it yet. She moves to the couch.
“You look like you haven’t slept,” she says, setting the mug down.
“I haven’t,” I admit, pacing slowly in front of the fireplace. “I need to tell him what Mason said last night. Before he hears it from anyone else.”
Harper leans forward, her expression sharpening with concern. “Then spill it to me first. Get it out.”
I nod, taking a shaky breath that rattles in my chest. “Mason said my dad didn’t just leave me the ranch. He left me full rights to the Blake family trust.” The words feel foreign and heavy in my mouth. “It’s… massive. Oil, land holdings, investments. I didn’t even know it existed.”
Harper’s eyebrows shoot up. “Holy crap.”
“I know,” I whisper. My voice feels fragile, like it might snap if I speak too loud.
“And there’s more. He left a letter. Another one.
It said if I accept the trust, I also inherit a seat on the board of the foundation he helped build in Austin.
” I exhale shakily, my chest tight. “They want me to run it, marketing, public outreach, all of it.”
I pace in a slow circle, staring at the floor as if answers might appear in the grain of the wood. “And last night, after I left Mason, I got an email from my old ad agency. The partnership I wanted before all this, they want to talk about it again. They want to talk to me. Tomorrow.”
Harper whistles low, rising to stand. “Well, damn. That’s not a fork in the road, that’s a whole damn interstate.”
I laugh, but it comes out brittle. “What if I’m not meant for this life? What if I’m better at strategy and branding than fence posts and feed schedules?”
My eyes find hers, wide and uncertain. “What if I was never supposed to stay?”
Harper stands and walks over, placing her hands on my shoulders. “That might be true. Or it might just be fear talking. You’ve built something here, Avery. Something real.”
Her words settle over me like a prayer. I nod, because I know she’s right.
But that doesn’t make the choice any easier.
Behind me, I hear the creak of floorboards, Cash. I turn, heart in my throat, as he steps into the room, eyes on me like he already knows something’s wrong.
“It’s time,” I say, voice soft. “We need to talk.”
We sit on the porch swing while Emmy plays in the yard, her giggles floating through the warm morning air like bird song. I tell him everything, about the trust, the board seat, the job offer. I don’t sugarcoat any of it.
Cash listens without interrupting, but I can feel the tension in his body, the stillness of someone bracing for a hit.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admit when I’ve laid it all out. “It’s everything I worked for. Everything I used to want.”
“And now?” he asks.
I look out across the land, where golden light spills over the barn’s fresh planks, casting long, amber shadows across the dew-soaked grass. The scent of hay and honeysuckle lingers in the air, carried by a soft morning breeze.
The horses graze lazily beyond the fence line, tails swishing rhythmically, while Emmy, barefoot and beaming, darts after a trio of squawking chickens with a plastic tiara sliding crooked on her head.
Her laughter bubbles up like a song, wild and free, painting this morning in a shade of joy I never knew I needed. I take a deep breath.
“I want this too,” I whisper. “But I don’t know if I can have both.”
He nods slowly. “You could do great things in Austin, Avery. No doubt in my mind,” he says, but there’s a catch in his voice, a faint crack he tries to swallow. His gaze drops for half a second, and when it lifts again, his jaw is tight. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t do great things here too.”
Tears prick at my eyes. “What if I choose wrong?”
He reaches for my hand, and there’s a pause, just long enough to feel it. “There is no wrong choice. There’s only the one you can live with. And I’ll support you, no matter where that takes you.”
His words are steady, but his voice, his eyes, are heartbreakingly soft.
And that’s what makes it worse.
Because the idea of leaving him, leaving this, feels like losing something I didn’t even know I needed until now.
I look down at our joined hands, the way his thumb brushes mine in soft, steady strokes. That single gesture unravels me more than any speech could. He’s giving me the freedom to choose, and somehow, that makes choosing even harder.
“I spent so long chasing that version of success,” I say quietly. “The corner office, the fast-paced campaigns, the accolades. It was all about proving I could win in a man’s world. That I wasn’t just some barrel racer with a pretty face and too many opinions.”
He gives me a half smile. “You’ve always been more than that. Everyone who matters sees it.”
“But it’s different now,” I go on. “Here, I feel like I’m part of something bigger than just my own ambition. I look around and I see roots, deep, messy, beautiful roots. Emmy loves it. You’ve made this more than a home, you made this a place I want to be.
Cash is quiet for a beat, then murmurs, “You don’t have to give up who you were to become who you are. You can carry both.”
His words knock something loose in my chest, and for a long moment, I can’t breathe around the knot forming in my throat. “That job offer, it’s everything I ever wanted. But I don’t want to wake up five years from now, wondering if I traded something rare for something familiar.”
“You won’t have to wonder,” he says. “Because no matter what happens, you’re not alone anymore.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes as Emmy’s laughter rings out again. The world doesn’t stop spinning just because I’m standing at a crossroads, but maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to pick a direction today.
Not yet. I tell Cash, "I have to go and hear them out at least. I don't want to have any regrets looking back at this moment. I've wanted this forever, I've worked hard for it."
But even as I say it, my mind keeps drifting back to Emmy. To her tiny voice asking if we can ride the ponies every day. To the way she clings to Cash like she’s known him her whole life. How her drawings now include a barn, a big sun, and a smiling cowboy with a crooked hat.
I know what this place means to me. But what does it mean to her?
Later, while Cash heads to the barn and Harper’s on a call, I sit with Emmy on the porch swing. She’s coloring, her tongue poking out in concentration, while I sip tea and try to pretend my heart isn’t breaking in a dozen different directions.
“Sweetheart,” I say gently, “can I ask you something?”
She looks up. “Mmhmm.”
“How would you feel if Mommy got a job in the city again? A really big job. We’d have to move. There wouldn’t be horses, cows, or chickens, but there’d be parks and museums and lots of fun things to do.”
Her crayon stops moving.
“Would Cash come?” she asks.
I hesitate. “Maybe not right away.”
Her lip wobbles. “But I like it here. I don’t wanna leave the pony. Or Sugar. Or Cash. Or the barn.”
I swallow hard. “I know, baby. I just want to make the best choice for us.”
She stares down at her picture again, her fingers tightening around the crayon until it snaps.
Her shoulders slump, and she draws a little red heart in the corner with slow, deliberate strokes, blinking fast as tears gather but don’t quite fall.
“I already like it here,” she says quietly.
“You laugh more. And I get to help feed the horses.”
It’s so simple. So pure. But her words cut through all the noise in my head.
That night, when I tuck her into bed, she hugs her stuffed pony to her chest and whispers, “Can we stay, Mommy?”
I kiss her forehead, the lump in my throat growing. “We’ll figure it out together, okay?”
I close her door and lean against the frame, pressing my palm to my chest.
Later, when the house is still and the only sound is the ticking clock in the hallway, I slip into the bathroom and quietly turn the faucet on, just enough to mask the sound. My legs give way beneath me, and I slide down the wall, pulling my knees to my chest.
The tears come hard and fast, soaking into my sleeves as I try to hold it all in. The pressure, the guilt, the impossible choice, I let it break me here, alone in the quiet. No one to be strong for. Just me, unraveling.
Because that’s the truth I can’t shake.
This decision isn’t just about what fulfills me—it’s about the life Emmy wakes up to every morning. The joy she feels when her boots hit the porch. The way she lights up when Cash lifts her onto a saddle.
And maybe ambition is important. Maybe purpose matters.
But maybe, just maybe, my greatest legacy isn’t what I build in boardrooms, but who I raise in barns.
I don’t sleep. I toss and turn, staring at the ceiling, feeling every second slip away like sand through my fingers. By the time the sun starts stretching across the hills, my suitcase is packed and resting by the door.
Cash meets me in the kitchen, coffee in hand, his hair tousled, his eyes shadowed but calm. “You sure?” he asks.
“No,” I admit. “But I have to see it through. Just one day. Just one meeting for now.”
He nods, but something flickers in his eyes, something like worry wrapped in quiet strength. “Then go. You’ll never know unless you face it head-on.”
Harper hugs me tight by the truck. “Take notes. And if the coffee sucks, don’t take the job.”
I smile through the nerves and tension curling in my stomach. “Copy that.”
Cash walks me to the driver’s side, his hand brushing mine before he opens the door. “We’ll be here when you get back,” he says. “Me and Emmy, and Sugar, who might just miss you most.”
I laugh, but my throat tightens as I climb in and close the door. He taps the roof twice, then steps back, and I hate how quickly the ranch disappears in the rearview mirror.
Halfway down the long gravel drive, I glance at the drawing Emmy left folded inside my planner. It’s crooked and colorful, me, her, and Cash standing in front of the barn. She’s added a rainbow and drawn hearts above all our heads.
It breaks something open in me.
But still… I drive.
The city rises out of the horizon like a challenge. Sleek, fast, efficient. Everything I used to crave. I remember the rush of office elevators, the thrill of big pitches under harsh fluorescents, late-night takeout and glowing screens.
Back then, it felt like power. Like purpose. But now, that glitter feels colder. Emptier. Like something I once mistook for home. But as I merge onto the highway and the open land falls behind me, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve already left more than just a ranch behind.
I’ve left home.
My head is spinning like I'm on an unwanted ride at an amusement park.